Desert Crawl
by Xihasuj
Summary: Sometimes Pitch doesn't have to do anything extreme to exact harm to those who have wronged him. Afterall, fear is a delicate and wonderful thing that should be nurtured and worked softly... lovingly... No, Pitch decides to not do anything so obviously harmful to Jack Frost. But that does not mean the winter spirit is in for a frightening experience; nor for the other Guardians.
1. Jack's Staff

**Disclaimers:** I obviously **do not** own Rise of the Guardians in any way, and it is silly for me to even have to state as such. I **have not** read the books, and this is **movie only**. So therefore I apologize for any inconsistencies that may go against the books, for I am running under assumptions I have made after seeing the movie. Thank you.

**Pairings: **None. If you see a pairing, then by all means, see a pairing. Have fun!

**Warnings:** Not _entirely_ child-friendly, but won't be littered with profanity or gore either. No romance – just some lovely fluffiness and hurt/comfort because Jack seems to always be at the centre of this in the world of fanfiction. Sorry Frost.

* * *

**Desert Crawl  
Chapter 1 : Jack's Staff**

* * *

It wasn't as if Jack could not handle heat. He could withstand heat just fine – even in his hoodie – and be no worse for wear. Just because he was a spirit of fun and the name that was whispered around winter did not mean that he failed to have any protection against the heat. He was an immortal, after all, and a Guardian at that.

It frustrated Jack that the others would worry when he said that he wanted to breeze through some of the deserts at night, wishing to give those lonely residents there a little frost or possible fun in the rarest of snows. He wasn't the one that dictated when and when it didn't snow – for it snowed long before had ever been Jack Frost – or alive even – but he could command the winds and give frost and snow to those places that he specially chose. Such as certain Easters that certain kangaroos didn't like to forget about.

But it frustrated Jack that he'd get worried glances and looks whenever he wished to help with something. Whether it was sitting out a hot night to aid the sandman with giving cooling and relaxing dreams to children, or flying with Baby Tooth in the collection of teeth just because he wanted to do a good deed; there was always a seed of worry that followed after him, given to him by the Guardians.

'Oh Jack, won't it be much too hot for you?' Tooth would ask, worry striking her features and causing her headdress of feathers to droop in concern.

'Oi, don' cha think it stupid to go out when it's that hot, mate? Or do ya' wanna ruin summer for us?' would be a variation on what Bunnymund would say.

North would seem decidedly neutral on the fact, suggesting that perhaps Jack shouldn't go out in the heat, and just be careful if he did; and Sandy merely looked concerned, and merely displayed these concerns to Jack until the youngest Guardian would tell them all that he was _fine_ and he managed to live for 300 years as Jack Frost without melting, thank-you-very-much.

And it wasn't as if he could melt. Though Bunnymund started to find that concept funny, and insisted on teasing Jack about it until Frost replied with the question of whether the bunny was made of chocolate, and did he melt in the summer's heat as he heard some children rumoring about.

That effectively stopped those taunts.

No, Jack Frost could handle heat just fine. His staff helped, and he was able to keep fairly cold with no discomfort. It was a natural thing; his abilities awarded him the power to be able to pretty much ignore any temperature. His icy magic would always veil his flesh, and would always protect from the heat – but he could still be _uncomfortable_. He'd only have to worry about taxing himself to stay cold, and perhaps he shouldn't go jumping into any _volcanoes_ any time soon, and furnaces and ovens and generally _very hot things_ was something any sensible person should avoid.

So he was fine in the heat – absolutely fine.

Besides, it wasn't as if at that moment Jack was in the desert per se, it wasn't nearly hot enough to be considered a desert known for heat. Well, not at that moment. It was the middle of the night, and the lack of cloud cover over the barren plains lent to the air being icy and cold whereas during the day the heat would be stifling.

Jack was gently gliding through the air over a breeze of wind he commanded, and trailed his staff on the ground, amusing himself with gentle swirls of frost that he blanketed the ground with. No snow. There wouldn't be water in this area for some time, and it wasn't him to mess with the nature of the weather. It just wasn't his domain.

But he could create just enough frost to enjoy himself with.

He was frustrated, maybe angry – or at least on the border of being so.

Again, he had stated the fact that he wanted to go off to the desert that night and enjoy himself by making harmless frost – it was summer in other areas of the world that he preferred to frequent, and there was just generally less havoc-making in the places he normally frequented.

But the other Guardians expressed concerns, and like usual, he had to convince them that he'd be fine. That it was _at night_ for goodness sakes and that even if it was a blazing hot day, that he'd just be complaining of the heat, and not melting into a puddle. It wasn't going to kill him, and it was angering him that he had to explain that _yet again_.

He had to tell them once more that his magic was enough to protect him from the typical hot days, and even the desert ones, that it wasn't going to be anything like hot enough to cause _anyone_ to sweat, and that seeing as it was at night, frost was going to form anyway, and he wanted to be in on the action.

He left after they relented.

It frustrated him. He supposed it was the constant nagging that did it, and that he should be endeared that they cared so much. But… that was what bothered him the most; the fact that the others cared about him so much.

Frost landed gently and used his staff to knock an errant rock into the blackness of the night, and he kicked around a few stones, his hands stuffing into his pockets where the staff rest against his elbow.

Where were they 300 years ago when he was first 'born'? Why had he been so alone then? The others were older than him; he was the youngest of all of them. Why didn't any of the other spirits – Guardians or no – take heed or concern for him _then_? It wasn't as if he had Tooth flittering around him in concern over his health before he had been a Guardian…

He hadn't even _known_ her then, despite when they had first met, she wanted to see his teeth because she had heard rumour they were 'perfect' – so she had known of him.

_That_ bothered Jack too, just adding to his frustrations, how the others in the world that were like him seemed to have known about him. Tooth had heard about his teeth, Bunnymund never would get over the fact he enjoyed making havoc, frost and snow on Easter, the Sandman had seen him on occasion flitting through and probably saw dreams concerning surprise snow days and the like. And North, well, North probably 'knew' him best despite never _knowing_ him.

Jack had 'the record' apparently on the naughty list, and he had been trying for his near entire existence as a spirit to break into the North Pole and the workshop.

It wasn't as if he hated them, he didn't. It wasn't as if he was disgusted with them, he assumed he wasn't. But it was frustrating and anger-inducing to be reminded of this fact every time he wanted to do something and suddenly it was 'too dangerous'. It wasn't as though being worried over bothered him, it was that he was being worried over _now_. Now. Not before. Not when he was new to the world and not for 300 years of being ignored by spirits and not even known about by humans. Not during that frustrating pain and learning to get over it himself so he could just live and not suffer through confusion and self-doubt.

Only now, now that the Man in the Moon had chosen him as a Guardian to walk alongside the other big four, was he important enough to be worried about.

And that is what bothered Jack most.

Those years of isolation were years that were impossible to forget. And his childish 'hair-pulling' pranks on the others were brushed aside as attempts to just cause mischief, and not as hands reaching out to try and grasp for real friendship; some real substance in the pathetic excuse he had for relationships.

Jack sighed, knowing that he was letting himself angst over nothing. He had friends now, he was loved now, and that should have made a difference. He couldn't turn back the clock or demand to the others that he be paid attention to, and perhaps he never made good enough effort to get their attention before – though that thought just made his stomach twist, and he knew it wasn't entirely true.

He couldn't be angry over the fact they worried about him when he decided to enjoy a cold desert, or even enjoy a nice warm day! He couldn't be angry that they cared now; no matter how late that care had come.

But he was still frustrated, and his heart was still pained, as if this self-resolution of 'understanding' wasn't enough to get rid of the damage that had been dealt over such a long period of time.

Frost sighed again, and he swept his staff in a wide arc, causing bramble-like bushes to freeze with frost, and the pins of cactuses being brought out in sharp-relief by the light of the half-moon with the glittering frost. He smiled.

That was enough of negative thought, and Jack pushed it all aside to be dealt with later – or perhaps never, and he took to the sky again with another whoop.

...

He was enjoying himself properly now, and Jack was doing neat tumbles in the air and properly giving the land a coating of frost, overtaking the natural order of the world that was already adding frost to the barren landscape. He swirled interesting patterns into the dust and sand, and swept off again to bother some nocturnal animal and amused himself with their startled looks as a cold breeze would whistle past them unsuspected.

Jack paused in mid-air, hovering about a metre off the ground, and regarding a spot with amused delight. "Huh… Who would have thought I could make a snake jump in fright?" he snorted to himself.

Jack surveyed the area around him, admiring the swirls of frost that adorned the natural coating that the weather provided, and satisfied, he called upon the wind so he could take off from the ground.

He was stopped.

His leg was snagged, and Jack jerked – stopping in mid-air – as something gritty had grabbed his ankle, not hard, but enough so that it kept him from taking properly to the air and kept him from wrenching It free. Whipping his head around in surprise, he tried to catch sight of what had him held so firm.

It was hard to see, but melding out of the blackness, and attached to the black sandy grip, a form started to develop, and it unfolded and unfurled until features as colder than Jack's own appeared.

"Pitch," Jack snarled in instant recognition of the cool grey features and colourless expression.

"A pleasure, I am sure," replied the boogeyman with a simple smile. "Miss me? Or did you think you really had defeated me once and for all; you and those other Guardians of yours."

Jack wriggled his leg in a message that the black spirit should let go, and the end of his staff crackled warningly as he held it up. "Of course I knew we couldn't destroy your ugly mug as easily as that – though it seemed _really_ _promising_ at the time. What do you want?"

"I want to _win_, naturally. But that is not what I am after right now, for that clearly won't happen for some time yet," Pitch casually stated. "Mostly, I just want to have some fun."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Fun - you want to have _fun_?"

"Yes, fun; and might I add," the man continued, his soothing voice cutting more sharply through the silent desert night than any ice that Frost could conjure, "that I am _touched_ that you didn't believe me dead. You see, as long as there is fear in this world, I will _always_ be here. No matter what you guardians do, there will always be fear and nightmares."

Jack spat off to the side, "I know that. Let me go, I'm not here to amuse you. Go melt away in the darkness and nurse your wounds."

Pitch's face darkened slightly, but the shadow passed as quick as they came. "How could I do that if you came so willingly into my domain?" He swept his other hand to the surrounding desert.

"You live in a desert? That's pretty depressing; for you. Not very scary though."

"No, you idiot boy," Pitch's grip tightened, but still wasn't painful, and Jack remained floating where he was, caught in his grasp. "This land is rife with darkness and _fear_. It sometimes is a place I like to go when I need to think, and I can wallow happily in all the fear that had fallen from man's breath when they themselves fell in this place - this place without proper life."

"You're disgusting."

"Am I really?" Pitch made himself look complemented. "How touching. But you are in my domain right now, dearest Jack Frost," he ignored the look of disgust that Jack had made, and the wriggle to release himself from the steadfast grip, "And I cannot let go of opportunity."

Jack pushed his staff forward warningly, the tip crackling once more. "Don't you try anything - I'm warning you."

"You warn me?" the Nightmare King laughed, "Oh how very lovely. No, no, I have no intention to follow through with any plans I had before – yet. I told you, I want to have… _fun," _his hand swept sharply, and a stream of black sand crashed into Jack and sent him – and his staff – flying through the air.

Jack went wheeling to the ground, and landed against it with a harsh thump that kicked up some sand as well as arrant particles of frost. Jack pushed himself partially up with a snarl, only suffering a bruise or two and being no worse for wear, he glared death up at the man before him; that man who so desperately wanted to rule and control all fear.

And fear it was that crossed Jack's features in an instant when Pitch approached his staff, and picked it up from where it lay.

"No!"

The Nightmare King turned it over in his hand, and he looked down the length of it as if appraising its worth. "I daresay, I wonder what would happen if I were to break it?"

"I can fix it. _I've done it before_." Jack grit through tight teeth, and he pushed himself upwards, dusting the sand off of himself, and he held out his hand sharply. "Now give it back."

"Well, I know that I _can _break it, I have done that before." Pitch didn't seem to hear him, he was on his own train of thought, and he took a light step backward, and dodged a strike that Jack made in an attempt to get back his staff. "No, I don't think I should break it -"

"Pitch!"

"- That would be foolish -"

"Give it _back_."

"- The others would surely know immediately -"

"_Pitch_."

"- Now that you're an official Guardian and everything that goes with it -" disgust of his own coated Pitch's voice.

"_I said -_"

"I heard you." Pitch cut him off. "I have no intention on just simply giving it back to you."

"_PITCH_."

"You will have to get it."

And Pitch tossed the staff into the air, too high for Jack to reach in a jump; though he made a desperate attempt to, but his neck was caught by a noose of sand, and it stopped him from even coming close. As the staff made a glistening and near slow-motion arc in the air, another torrent of sand shot out of the shadows, enveloping it, before it disappeared into the distance – carrying the staff along with it.

"There," Pitch stated, shading his eyes as if it were daylight as he watched the staff wheel away in the force of the sand's toss. "Ah," Pitch sighed, "That is _far_ much better." He turned slowly to speak to Jack, "It is still within the desert, Jack Frost, and I would have to say you will have to walk some miles to fetch it."

Jack snarled, and moved forward to make a grab at the man, but the sand around his neck stopped him from making any sudden movements. Frost could only stand where he was and glare.

"Now, now, now," Pitched mockingly soothed as if Jack were a small pouting child, "I have been nice. I could very easily have instead-" and a knife was in Pitch's hand and before Jack knew it, the knife was dangerously close to Jack, pointed between his eyes.

He swallowed thickly, any demeanor of strength had vanished - his large blue and near child-like eyes gazed upwards at Pitch in fear.

"- well." You get the idea, don't you?" the blade disappeared as quick as it came, and Pitch drunk in that flittering expression of fear as if it were the liquor of his life.

"Why…?"

Again, Pitch ignored him. "I'd say it'd take you more than twelve hours to find that bloody staff of yours," he idly commented, and the sand began to fall away from Jack. "The sun is rising soon." Pitch started to collapse with the sand, fading away into the endless shadows of the desert at night.

"_Good luck."_

And the king of nightmares disappeared.

Jack made a movement forward, as if he could grab the Nightmare King from where he had last stood, but he was alone. Not even a mocking chuckle remained behind, just silence – and solitude.

Jack Frost swallowed, and he looked around himself warily, feeling naked without his staff, and his hand reflexively clenched and unclenched as his other rubbed his upper arm warily.

His eyes flicked in the direction of where his staff had been thrown – the sun was peeking the barest amount on the horizon, a sliver of blue and gold that would soon take over the sky – and he sighed.

"I better get started," he relented, knowing there would be no use in raging silently in the dark for Pitch to return his staff. That man was long gone by now, having decided the lingering would only jeopardize his ultimate plans.

So Jack Frost stepped forward, and waited for the blistering sun to rise.

He only hoped that his staff would be easy to find.

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**Author's Note:** I am entirely unsure of how many chapters this will be, though I don't think it will be any longer than five or so – if it reaches that many at all. I am trying to run with ideas that I've seen over and over again (eg. Jack suffering in the heat) and taking a new angle on it. I figured that he might be better-protected against it, or have found always to protect himself seeing that he has managed to live for 300 years more-or-less completely alone. I've had this sitting in my files for a week or more since I've seen the movie, and decided to finish it up and post it! :D

And again, I haven't read the books, so if there are any inconsistences that don't match up, I'm sorry, I've only seen the movie, and this will be exclusively movie-verse.

**Please comment and review!** – It's always lovely, and it helps for me to know what you all like so I can keep giving you what you like. Thanks!

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**Next Chapter: **Jack Frost. Stranded in a desert without his staff has to find it again before he gets perfectly overwhelmed in the heat. But he's tougher than that… isn't he? Jack struggles to retrieve the object he channels his magic with to warn the others of Pitch's vindictive nature. For if he sought to do harm to Jack, then who else was on his list…?


	2. Endlessness

**Disclaimers:** I obviously **do not** own Rise of the Guardians in any way, and it is silly for me to even have to state as such. I **have not** read the books, and this is **movie only**. So therefore I apologize for any inconsistencies that may go against the books, for I am running under assumptions I have made after seeing the movie. Thank you.

**Pairings: **None. If you see a pairing, then by all means, see a pairing. Have fun!

**Warnings:** Not _entirely_ child-friendly, but won't be littered with profanity or gore either. No romance – just some lovely fluffiness and hurt/comfort because Jack seems to always be at the centre of this in the world of fanfiction. Sorry Frost.

* * *

**Desert Crawl  
****Chapter 2 : Endlessness**

* * *

Jack Frost would have been completely lying to himself if let himself believe that he wasn't being bothered by the heat of the late morning. He would be completely and utterly foolish to say that he wasn't being effected that all, that he was a spirit of winter, and thus he could handle any extreme of weather. He would be lying.

While Jack Frost didn't feel devastatingly hot to the point where he thought he was going to collapse on the ground any second due to a relapse into fitful fevers – he was feeling the heat.

The staff not being in his possession didn't eliminate his abilities altogether, it just severely cut off his abilities to _channel_ said energy the way he liked. He always had a cool sheen to his flesh, always would have the ability to frost or freeze – even without it – but the staff was a core part of what he was, and it was a major part of his 'birth' as it was, and choosing to be a spirit in the first place.

It was as part of him as his legs, arms, and head were, and he felt severely crippled without it.

Squinting into the sun, Jack wiped off beads of sweat onto his sleeve. The sweat was cold and clung there like frost to a window on a cold day, but they would quickly melt and re-freeze over and over again, making for an uncomfortable slide down his cheeks, nose and chin.

"Stupid!" He cried out, probably for the tenth time, and kicked at a stone with his bare foot and watched it clatter into the distance.

There was no sound beyond the arrant sound of heat sapping moisture out of stones.

He stopped, and wiped his forehead again, and he glanced upwards, squinting at the light of the sun to discern what time it was, and where he was headed. He had been on the planet for 300 years, and long, long, before GPS had been invented. He knew how to navigate himself with precision and with no aid of any mechanical device – digital or not.

He continued walking forward, knowing he was still going in the direction of his staff, but also knowing that it was still a long ways away and there was no absolute chance that he'd find it right off the bat. He might overshoot…

… But the time to worry about that was not yet upon the young Guardian, so he didn't let himself worry. He had far more walking to do before the anxiety of finding the staff would take hold. Before the fear of never finding it again would swell in his stomach and heart.

So he walked on, and continued his trudge.

…

Pitch slunk through the shadows wherever he could find them. He was lucky that North's workshop was in such a dark part of the world during this time of day – and always would be under the habit of having the sun set faster than other places – for he could penetrate it easily.

Just as easily as before. Always sloppy; it was always so _simple _to get into.

Pitch's ego might have been viciously hurt at the last defeat by the Guardians, but it was not as if it was like his first defeat, or first attempt. He recovered easily and he would regain his powers when he could, feeding off fears until he could do more once more.

Doing so and planning for anything that might get in his way in future.

But now was not the time for that. Now was not the time for worries about grandiose plans of finishing off the Guardians, now was not the time for him to slink in to try to take over. That would be decades in the making, perhaps centuries. He after all, had all the time in the world, and the assurance that wherever there was life, there was fear.

He slunk through the shadows as easily as he ever did, and slipped through darkened passageways. He could hear the sounds of elves working hard at whatever they did, and the yeti's doing likewise. He paid them all no mind.

He had one place he aimed for, and that was North's personal little 'workshop of wonder', or whatever the old man had liked to call it. He slipped in under the crack in the door, still as silent as ever, and still unnoticed.

He melded into the shadow by the door.

North looked back, behind himself in wonder for a moment, before shrugging and getting back to work in carving whatever it was in the ice. From where Pitch lurked, it seemed to be a bird of some sort; perhaps a swan or something equally as peaceful.

He was confirmed to be right when North gestured his hand upwards, and the glass-like swan took flight, and the old Guardian chuckled in delight.

"My, my, isn't this delightful?"

North jumped – satisfactorily so – but showed that he was no dumb man as his two sabers were withdrawn and he was facing the doorway, both pointing outward.

Pitch was still comfortably tucked away in the shadow.

"Who is this!?"

A low chuckle emanated from Pitch's chest, and he replied, "Whoever do you assume it is, North, the _boogeyman_."

A low growl met the chuckle, and North's saber pointed toward the shadowed corner by the door. "I should have put candle there."

"Perhaps, shadows are a mere convenience; I _can_form them, after all," Pitch lazily replied.

"What are you doing here?"

"Can I not take a peek at the _wonder _that you create here? Can I not stare and gaze upon the wondrous delights that you form selfishly for yourself within this room?"

A snort and the large man took a step forward, his boots making a heavy sound against the wood. "It is not selfish."

"Oh, I apologize," he stated, not meaning it " I did not come for that, really," Pitch admitted, and he half-melded out of the shadow, and it was enough for North to hold his ground, eyes narrowing.

"Do you want to be beaten again, Pitch? Because that must be what you are wanting if you are here."

Pitch smiled, and it crept across his stone-grey features slowly. "No, why ever would I want that? It's not fun, and I am here for fun, after all."

"If you want the fun, then you go elsewhere!" North snarled, and he gestured with his blade. "Not here! There is no fun for you here!"

Pitch's face morphed into a considering one – inwardly he was enjoying this game – and he sighed out, melding back into the shadows. "True…"

He formed out of the darkness from a different corner this time, and ended up sitting on the table where North had been working, one leg crossed over the other, and his chin resting in his hand. "No, fun isn't _here_."

North's eyes widened, and he jumped, turning around, brandishing his blades.

Pitch's hands were up in defence. "Now, now, calm yourself. I clearly have no ability to do anything to you or your precious children." He picked up one of the ice-like-glass birds that were being carved. "A raven, hmn? How lovely."

"Leave…" North snarled.

Pitch turned the bird over in his hand, admiring the many angles. "No, I don't think I will."

"Leave!" North shouted, starting forward, and giving a wild swing of his scaber toward the spirit of the dark and fear.

It imbedded into the table, and cleaved one of his ice-trains cleanly in two, Pitch long gone before the blade had struck.

"Ah, tut-tut, where are your manners? I am merely visiting. I have done nothing. What if I have come here to apologize for all that I have done to you? That I see the error of my ways? That I now understand where fear fits in humanity and my useful place there in?"

North turned to see that Pitch stood free of shadows, in the middle of the room, hands behind his back. North's sword remained raised – the other was stuck in the table – and he glowered.

"Did you? Did you come to say these things?"

Pitch snorted, "No."

The growl in the chest of North was getting to an impressive level, perhaps he was going the way of the Yeti.

"I merely wanted to say, that… if you are looking for some fun," Pitch continued, holding out the raven in front of himself for a moment, the light catching off of it in alluring ways, "Then I suggest you stop playing with ice and start playing in the heat."

"What?"

"Just what I say, what more do you need?"

"What do you mean, 'If I am looking for fun', what do you mean by this?"

"What do I mean?" He repeated. The bird vanished, and Pitch tapped his chin in consideration of the question. "I don't know, lots of things, I suppose," he shrugged. "Best let you muddle that one through; I daren't stay for much longer."

"Pitch-"

"Goodbye for now, _Santa Claus_, and always know that I will forever be lurking, and waiting to strike again."

By the time North wrenched his second saber from the wood of his table, Pitch was gone, and a resounding echo of a laugh followed.

…

Jack wasn't sure how long he had been walking. Okay, that was a lie, he was_ absolutely sur_e on how long he was walking, because he always seemed to have a very uncanny ability to tell the time – that and the sun was directly overhead of himself. But it felt like he had been walking for days rather than for just part of one.

'Just _part _of a day,' Jack snorted as he thought that. 'Just _part'_, and he only had an _entire _day left to go - perhaps.

Jack knew he was still a long ways away from his staff and freedom from the heat, so he wasn't worried yet in finding it. But he was still anxious enough over the fact that something might have happened to it when it was thrown; and whether or not he'd have the strength to fix it if that be the case.

Never had he been in such a position before, nor feeling so desperately… lonely.

This was a different kind of loneliness that contrasted with what he had lived with and suffered through, this felt entirely different. Jack now had a sharp idea how having friends and family could make him feel even lonelier at this time - because there was the knowledge that _they_had no idea where he was, or what trouble he was in.

That no matter how much he wished that they would swoop in and save the day, they wouldn't.

How could they, if they didn't know?

Jack swiped his sleeve on his forehead again, catching the water there; it had long-since stopped freezing, and Jack wasn't able to keep an even-level of coolness as he did before. It had been wasting energy, and he needed that for walking. So instead of constantly keeping his skin like ice, it was cool to the touch, but not enough to freeze.

Soon he figured he wouldn't have the energy to do that but in short spurts. But he should be fine.

It was the lack of staff that was his problem

It was hard to channel energy without that staff, and his abilities were severely limited. He could keep going - possibly indefinitely - but not without damage and not without a little bit of suffering. Probably exactly what Pitch wanted.

No doubt the Nightmare King was bitter over his defeat, and saw fit to take revenge on the one that helped to exact that very defeat. There was no doubt in Jack's mind that Pitch was doing all of this as some sort of twisted sense of 'evening the scores'.

Jack paused for a moment, and glanced about himself until he found a shadow, and he gave it a smirk, "You can't defeat me that easily, Pitch. You mustn't know very much about me if you think something as stupid as this can defeat me. I'm not a snowflake, I don't melt just because I get a little heated."

He moved on, but nearly jumped a mile when a voice returned his statement.

"If you assume I am doing this because I wish to defeat you," a silky smooth voice replied from where the shadow had lain, but now where Pitch stood. "Then you are more of an idiot than I had assumed."

Jack whirled, and he automatically gestured as if he had his staff - but it was gone, and he glared even harder when he remembered that it wasn't within his grasp.

Pitch merely chuckled. "My dear Jack -"

"Call me that again, and you will be sorry."

"My _dearest_ Jack," Pitch continued, ignoring the look of anger, and reveling in the tendrils of fear that leaked off of the boy's thin frame, "I know that you cannot be defeated so simply by mere sunlight," he gestured to the sky, and to the blazing sun. "Just as_ I_ cannot be defeated by its rays. As I said before, you and I go hand-in-hand rather nicely, do we not?"

"If you think you can try to get me to join you, then you're dead wrong, Pitch. Dead, dead wrong. Especially after all what you did to Sandy, to my friends," Jack responded. "I'd never join someone like you. Not now, not _ever_."

"I wasn't looking for you to join me. I am merely stating that we go hand in hand. Ice and the darkness have trouble existing in the sunlight, don't they?" Pitch replied. "Quite a bit... But in a way..." He was walking now, and taking a wide circle around Jack. "Ice needs the dark to exist some of the time, lest the sunlight burn it away."

Jack's eyes narrowed, "What are you getting at?" he replied, turning his head and body to follow the Nightmare King's lazy circle around him.

"Oh... nothing." Pitch paused, and he produced from his pocket the bird made of ice, and tossed it to Jack.

Jack caught it, startled, and he examined it, turning it over. "... An ice bird?"

"A raven, to be particular, though I don't think that matters right now. What _does_ matter, is that I paid your 'friend' North a little visit."

Jack's heart twisted in fear, and he could see Pitch shift in comfort of that feeling. He swallowed it down and he stood his ground, glaring at Pitch and barking out with no fear lacing his tone, "What did you do to him?"

"Me? Nothing," Pitch honestly replied. "I'd daresay, if he had his way, I'd be hewn in two. But I did nothing. I did borrow that, however." He gestured to the bird. "He was probably carving some forest scene or whatever nonsense he does in that workshop of his."

Jack's hand gripped the snow bird gently. "It's not nonsense."

"Well, whatever it is..." Pitch casually waved his hand. "Now, Frost, I shall tell you one thing."

"What is that?"

"That delicate little bird," Pitch stated, gesturing to the sculpture in Jack's hand. "Might be enchanted by whatever magics that are allowed to withstand heat and not melt as if it were but normal ice, but even it is not safe from the harsh rays of this land. Soon enough... it will need the protection of shadow lest it... melt."

Jack's head tilted, confused. It was just an ice bird, though it was something that North made, it certainly wasn't important right now... Why would he care?

"And soon enough you will understand what I mean," Pitch smiled, and he started to take steps back into the shadow from whence he came.

"Pitch -"

"I assume I shall be seeing you soon."

"Pitch -!"

Jack made a move forward, to demand that he get his staff back, to demand for him to explain himself, and to demand that this stupid game _end_, and end now.

"I will be waiting for you to call."

"**Pitch -!**"

And he was gone.

Jack was standing, alone, in front of the stone that had cast that shadow, ice bird in one hand, and nothing in the other.

It was a long number of moments before Jack moved again, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, and letting his skin cool down dramatically - a little waste of energy, but he needed it - so that the heat felt less potent.

It was another long moment before Jack looked at the little bird in his hand, glistening in the light as if it were but made of tinted glass - but Jack knew better.

He turned it over, and held it up. It looked as perfect as if it had come out of Santa's workshop that very moment, and it seemed untainted by Pitch's grasp. It looked normal and unaffected by the sunlight, as North's sculptures always seemed to be.

The words tumbled in Jack's mind, and his hand gripped around the bird. He had half an urge to just toss it against the stone, to ignore it all, but he stopped before he even raised his hand. He opened his hand once more, to look at the little sculpture, before he held it up to his face, and he blew out billowing cool air over it.

It gently frosted over, adding a glistening layer that brought out all the intricate details into sharp relief.

It wasn't going to melt, Jack was sure of it.

Glancing up at the sun, and knowing that there was no point in brooding or griping that Pitch had done nothing more than taunt him, and that he had gained nothing from the experience, he set off again.

The only difference was, that he slipped the glass-like bird into his front pocket as he walked, certain that the little bird wouldn't melt.

After all, if it melted, what did that mean for him?

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**Author's Note:** Still not sure on Chapter number. Sorry that it took so long to get out! Christmas Break and preparing for that and all the anxieties thereof and the changing weather makes for not a lot of writing. But I didn't forget about it - or you! Next should come _much_ faster.

And as you can see, this is _not_ going to be a typical 'Jack in the heat' fanfiction, not one bit. And that is entirely intentional. As you can see, Pitch is entirely confident about _something_... whatever that may be...

Again, I apologize if there are any inconsistencies from the books, but again, I haven't read them.

**Please comment and review!**– It's always lovely, and it helps for me to know what you all like so I can keep giving you what you like. Thanks!

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Being trapped in the desert was no fun at all. Being trapped in a desert with no staff, no idea where you were, and it being night time and having Pitch exacting some sort of twisted revenge even less so. And what exactly did Pitch's warnings even mean?


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